It all started on a normal evening.

Sultan was dutifully doing nothing, laying on his back staring at the sealing.

The smell of the soap from his bath is still fresh in his nostrils and the loosen in his muscles hadn't fled yet. The home had a serene type of soundlessness that only broken by Sultan's soft breathing and the allusive buzzing in his ears.

 he just lay there, his hands behind his head.

This kind of tranquility and stillness always put his mind on ultra mood. Sultan wasn't the type to sit around doing nothing; his hands always itched to be busy. So, when he had to relax, all his energy seemed to channel into his brain, which kept spinning with thoughts.

Sultan thought about his day, his promotion and the unexpected RELISYS upgrade he received due to his new job.

He still can't help but marvel on the realistic output that this thing can manage. Unlike Sultan's last version , some Linces that can only create visual holograms, this recent upgrade is able to provide the user with 100% real-life sensory information, hence the name real-life system. 

After a while, even his thoughts couldn't keep him lying down any longer. He rose up, looking for something to do.

Glancing at the clock in the corner of his vision, he noticed it was quite late in the evening. Deciding he should prepare dinner for today, he drifted out of his room, heading to check on his little sister first.

Founding the door of her room already opened, Sultan peeked his head inside.

As usual, the room was sinking in darkness except for the gentle light coming from the candle like Lanter on his sister's study disk.

Sultan really couldn't get it. why is she always reluctant to turn on the lights? Not expecting to solve this mystery today, he switched on the light himself.

His sister jumped, startled by the sudden brightness.

Looking at her, Sultan couldn't suppress the wave of emotions that washed over him.

a mixture of regret and loss followed by unwavering determination and resolve. She wasn't always so small.

His sister, to put it in the most flattering words, had become a tiny little thing; her arms and legs looked like fragile sticks, stitched onto a larger branch like torso. She was so thin he could probably wrap both of her arms in one hand, and there will be plenty of space for a third. Her cheeks were sunken, and the bones of her face were prominent, giving her features a sharp, angular quality.

Her wide green eyes, so much like his own, blinked at him in surprise.

"Hey, Sultan, do you need me to do something?" she asked, as timid as a bunny. 

"Hey Naomi, good evening too? I see that you are still studying?" Sultan replied, ignoring her question.

"Yeah. But I'm about to finish. Do tell me what you need? she asked again, as annoyingly caring as ever .

"No, I'm just going to prepare dinner, so I wanted to ask what you'd like to have."

"Dinner? Is it time already?" she blurted out, glancing at the clock.

"Oh, sure. I'll do it. You don't have to, I'll cook as usual," she added, getting up and starting to tidy her desk, preparing to head to the kitchen.

Sultan's hand came down gently on her shoulder. "Calm down. I'm feeling a little energetic today, so I'll do it, or … don't you like my cooking?"

"No, it's not that. It just kind of my thing to prepare the food. you shouldn't be bothered with it," she said flustered.

Sultan smiled, ruffling her hair. "Bother me? Never. Just keep studying, and don't overdo it, alright?" He paused, then added, "Now, come on. Answer my question. What do you fancy for dinner?"

She played with her fingers, her voice soft. "I don't know. You decide. You're the one cooking."

"Well, see, now we're getting somewhere," Sultan said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders gently. "Every time you cook, you always ask what I want, and you insist on making it. So today, since it's my turn, I think we should stick to the same rule: the one cooking isn't the one deciding. You tell me."

She raised her head to look at him, her mouth opening as if to say something, then closing again, unsure or unwilling to voice her thoughts.

They stayed like that for a moment, and Sultan couldn't help the familiar pang of regret and loss. Suppressing those feelings, he took his hand off her shoulder and smiled cheerfully, or as much as he was able to fake cheerfulness.

"You know what? You don't even have to answer. I know what you like. Pasta with chicken, right? That's dinner tonight," he said.

"It'll be ready in no time." He remarked as he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

In the kitchen, Sultan opened the refrigerator, pulling out vegetables and chicken.

As he laid everything out, he opened a music window to play in the background. Following that, He opened a drawer and took out an old, well-worn knife.

"Yep, I'll use you today," he muttered.

The knife was ancient, marked by scratches and chips in the blade, with some cracks in the handle.

despite its appearance, it was still sharp, in fact it is the sharpest knife Sultan had ever used. It was a memento from his mother, and Sultan liked to use it on special occasions, during joyful moments and such.

Sultan took his time chopping the vegetables.

If you asked him, he'd say this was his favorite part of the cooking process .

There is something unreasonably relaxing about the repetitive action. He likes to challenge himself by concentrating on cutting everything into perfect little cubes, as detailed and as fast as he could. He had even started to become quite skilled at it. He knew exactly where to place his fingers, how to hold the vegetables to get the perfect grip, and when to apply just the right amount of force and pressure.

Finishing with the vegetables, he moved on to the chicken.

But before he could get far, he felt something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it immediately.

'The music.' it had gone silent. Just as he was about to reopen the music window to see what was wrong, he heard a voice,

quite like a whisper yet clear and crisp in his head.

[Noumenon detected.]

[Preparing for numberization.]

Sultan froze. This wasn't the voice of his assistant.

The assistant's voice was designed to sound natural, almost like a real person speaking aloud. But this voice was different. it was cold, ethereal , and seemed to echo in his mind.

"what the…,"

Sultan's curses never came out because his heart leaping into his throat stifled any intelligible voice from emerging.

As he looked onto his buddy, an icy feeling of dread and horror gripped his soul.

the reason. His foot, it was gone, vanished from the ankle down.

What's more, that's not the end of it. the rest of his buddy is disappearing too.